


Bolo Punch

by tricklesnitz



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Dirty Talk, Facials, Fake AH Crew, Fighting Kink, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masochism, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans Michael, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-16
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-12 22:37:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16004741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricklesnitz/pseuds/tricklesnitz
Summary: Michael snorts. “That’s some real sexy dirty talk, buddy,” he says, scratching over the stubble at the back of Jeremy’s head.





	Bolo Punch

**Author's Note:**

> Bolo Punch: Occasionally seen in Olympic boxing, the bolo is an arm punch which owes its power to the shortening of a circular arc rather than to transference of body weight; it tends to have more of an effect due to the surprise of the odd angle it lands at rather than the actual power of the punch.

Michael’s skin feels like it’s too tight. He feels restless, antsy, full of energy he doesn’t know what to do with. Unconstructive, chaotic energy that helps nothing and won’t let him do anything constructive.

Not even jerking off in the shower helps, he discovers, standing under the scalding spray and rocking against the heel of his hand. He comes, but it’s shitty and unsatisfying, and the heat of the shower becomes oppressive rather than relaxing, so he finishes up the shower and gets out.

The energy thrums through him at a dull buzz that’s so distracting he can’t focus on his video game, walking in aimless circles through the artificial landscape before he decides to just shut it off.

Michael knows he just showered (even if it was only to masturbate because fuck his room and its comfortable bed, right?), but he also knows he doesn’t pay the fucking water bill in this building and just maybe exercise will help.

So he seeks out Ryan.

Who sighs when he sees Michael’s sports-bra-and-basketball-shorts look and scratches at his eyebrow. “What’s up?” Ryan asks, almost gratingly patiently. He reaches up to tie his hair back against the nape of his neck.

“Fight me,” Michael demands, curling his fingers against his palms. Ryan’s hands go still, hairband stretching across his fingers.

“Now?” Ryan finishes tying his hair. Michael nods. “I can’t.” Ryan’s eyebrows pinch together in a way he thinks looks sympathetic but to Michael looks exasperated and annoyed that Michael would even think of asking him something like this. “I have a job to go on with Jack tonight that requires me  _ not _ looking like I lost a fight.”

Michael scoffs and rolls his eyes. “But you don’t even  _ lose _ half the time. Who else can keep up with me?” he whines.

“Maybe Lil’ J will fight you?” Ryan suggests, eyebrows arching up with his voice in a hopeful sounding suggestion. This time Michael’s response is a full-body shoulder slump and a loud groan. “I know, I know. Big bad Vagabond, making you find someone else to beat you up.” Ryan pulls his closet open and digs around for what turns out to be a fully black leather jacket that he zips over his white t-shirt.

Then he herds Michael out of his room with a kiss to his temple and pulls the door shut behind him with a final sounding  _ click _ that definitely shouldn’t be as fucking ominous as Ryan somehow makes it to be.

Michael tracks down Jeremy. He can’t approach Jeremy with the opening line of  _ let’s fight _ like he can Ryan, who he’s known just that much longer, so he settles for a nice, neutral, “You wanna spar? Scrimmage? Whatever the fuck you wanna call it?” as he leans on the frame of Jeremy’s very open bedroom door.

Jeremy looks up from his laptop with a confused noise. Michael refuses to repeat his question, so he just stares until the invitation registers. “Oh, uh, sure. Lemme just get changed. I’ll meet you downstairs?”

Michael nods and turns on his heel. The buzzing, unhelpful energy has resolved itself into something slightly more useful--excitement for the upcoming scrap. Anticipation for feeling the solid hits from knuckles taped up the way he knows Jeremy does when he has time to protect them. His skin is electric as he slaps the button in the elevator for the right floor the gym in the penthouse building is on.

He practically dances from foot to foot on the way down and starts warming himself up on the thick mat in the center of the room meant specifically for fighting. He knows the way Jeremy fights; it’s the same big city scrappy and barely-fair grappling from his own hometown, but Jeremy’s stockier and not built for the slippery way Michael himself fights with dodges and low blows.

Michael’s rolling his shoulders when Jeremy steps into the doorway in basketball shorts and a tight t-shirt. His feet are bare, like Michael’s, and that makes Michael grin. He watches Jeremy dig sports tape out of a cabinet and wrap his hands.

“Ready?” Jeremy asks, smoothing down the last edge. Michael bares his teeth in a ghost of a smile and curls his shoulders into a half crouch, lifting his hands. Jeremy steps onto the mat and drops into his own fighting stance.

"Oh, wait, hang on," Michael says suddenly, reaching into his shorts and pulling his packer out of his underwear. There's no special pocket in this pair to keep it in place and fuck trying to fight with it jiggling all over. He throws it to the side and it hits just past the edge of the mat with a  _ slap _ . "Okay, now you go."

Jeremy stares at him for a few moments, eyes wide in disbelief, before shaking himself out of it with a few sharp blinks. "Ha, ha, real funny, pal." He drops his taped-up hands and relaxes from his stance. "Was that supposed to intimidate me?" he asks.

"Did it?" Michael retorts, hiking his shorts up to resituate them.

“A little,” Jeremy replies, eyes trailing to the silicone then flicking back up to Michael again.

Michael laughs, tipping his head up with the motion of it. “Then yes.” He scruffs a hand through his hair as he brings himself back down to stare Jeremy in the face. “Square up, bitch,” he says. This time it’s Jeremy’s turn to laugh, and contrast to Michael, he curls in on himself.

When Jeremy’s recovered, both of them settle back into their stances. “Usual rules. Go!” Jeremy calls.

Michael lashes out with a right hook. Jeremy blocks it and uses the momentum to drop under his arm and jab at Michael’s ribs. The hit connects. Michael grunts and swings another punch. It clips Jeremy’s shoulder. Jeremy jabs again and again and each hit that lands sends heat rolling through Michael.

The heat settles between his legs, throbbing in time with each twinge of pain.

Well. If that’s how this was gonna go, that's how this was gonna go.

==

Fingernails scratch at his scalp as they wind into his hair to try to pin him down as he scrambles away. All Jeremy manages to do is wrench his head back, pulling his hair so hard it hurts. Michael’s skin zings hot from scalp to toes and he grunts through gritted teeth. 

It doesn’t him that all he can think is that he hopes Jeremy won’t  _ stop _ , not with how he reacted to the start of their fight. The fingers go slack very briefly before re-tightening in his hair. Michael feels himself drip. His next breath comes out a low whimper.

“Did you just  _ moan _ ?” Jeremy asks incredulously. Michael slings his arm out behind him, slamming the side of his fist into Jeremy’s ribs. Jeremy grabs his wrist and pins his arm out straight. “Don’t avoid my question!”

“I’m not!” Michael snaps. “We’re still  _ fighting _ .” He pulls his knees in to roll himself over, but Jeremy swings himself around to pin him down by the back of his neck instead of his arm. His other hand stays in Michael’s hair.

“Tap out,” Jeremy says, voice low. “Or answer my question.”

“No,” Michael replies. Jeremy tugs on his hair. “Why do you wanna know? Was it distracting?” he teases. He licks his lips and is met with the taste of blood; probably from his nose dripping blood after a particularly vicious cross punch. They’d have cleaning to do later.

Jeremy shifts, just a bit, and there’s a heavy heat against Michael’s ass now. He leans over, letting go of Michael’s neck to brace himself against the mat. “Yeah, actually, it was,” he says, and Michael is hit with the realization that Jeremy’s  _ hard _ .

All of the air whooshes out of Michael in one long breath. Jeremy lets go of his hair and strokes a hand down his back.

“Tap out,” Jeremy says again.

“What do I get if I tap out?” Michael flexes his toes against the mat. Jeremy grips his hip.

“What do you want?” he asks. Michael wiggles his hips, humming thoughtfully. “Of course,” Jeremy sighs. “Sure.”

Michael stretches his hand out, raising it and wiggling his fingers like he’s thinking about tapping the mat. Then, he pats the mat once, twice.

Jeremy shoves his hip. Michael goes easily, turning over and letting his legs fall open. Jeremy slots himself between Michael’s legs and kisses his jaw. “Any requests?”

Michael slides his arms around Jeremy’s shoulders. “Do whatever you want, just don’t put anything in me,” he says.

Jeremy nods, then sinks his teeth into the meat of Michael’s shoulder.

“Ah,  _ fuck _ ,” Michael hisses, throwing his head back. Jeremy kisses the bite, then trails kisses up Michael’s neck.

“What if I just went down on you forever?” Jeremy asks, brushing his nose against the shell of Michael’s ear. “Would you like that?”

Michael snorts. “That’s some real sexy dirty talk, buddy,” he says, scratching over the stubble at the back of Jeremy’s head.

“So you’d rather me tell you something like this?” Jeremy says. “I’m  _ going _ to suck your dick,” his voice drops to a purr, “and it’s  _ going _ to drive you crazy. I’m gonna get you so wound up, nice and riled. Gonna get you fuckin’ my face.” One of his hands drop to press against Michael through his shorts. “That better?”

“Yeah,” Michael breathes out on a moan. Jeremy rubs at him a second longer, then slides his hand under the waistband of his shorts and his underwear.

He slides one finger down between Michael’s lips, then back up to press against his dick. “God, you’re real wet  _ already _ ,” he says.

Michael’s leg twitches as Jeremy strokes. “What can I say,” he pants. “I like getting hit.” He curls his fingers into the shoulders of Jeremy’s shirt and licks more copper from his lips. Jeremy pulls his hand from his shorts and shifts to tug them down. Michael lifts his hips, then kicks his shorts off.

Jeremy resettles himself with his shoulders between Michael’s legs. He kisses Michael’s thigh, then drags a finger between his lips before spreading them and licking broad stripes with the flat of his tongue. He wraps his lips around Michael’s dick and sucks. Michael slaps a hand against the mat and arches his back.

“Shit,” Michael whines, his other hand scrabbling for purchase against Jeremy’s shoulder. Jeremy bobs, then pops off and licks at the underside in slow strokes. Michael huffs. Jeremy licks another languid stroke over his hole, then takes the head of his dick into his mouth, tounge working in teasing circles. Michael slaps a hand against the mat again.

Jeremy comes up with a wet noise. “Tapping out already?” he asks, grinning rakishly as Michael lifts his head to level him with a red-cheeked glare.

“I fucking hate you,” Michael says, and Jeremy muffles a laugh against the crease of hip and thigh.

He jerks Michael’s dick and bends to lick at the head, and Michael’s free hand comes to rest against the nape of his neck. He lets Michael hold him in place as he grinds against Jeremy’s face, and Jeremy can’t hold back a grin when he hears Michael’s toes curl against the mat.

He’s dipped his head to lick over Michael’s hole again, wet and slick and  _ messy _ , when Michael says abruptly, gasping, “Changed my mind.” Jeremy lifts his head, eyebrows furrowing. “Get in me  _ now _ ,” Michael demands. He tugs impatiently at Jeremy’s shirt.

“I will, I will,” Jeremy replies, stroking a soothing hand up Michael’s side. He curls one thick finger, then two, inside Michael with short, shallow strokes, crooking and pressing; he licks at Michael’s dick again, too, and revels in the break in Michael’s voice when he moans and the scratch of his nails against the mat.

It takes effort for Michael to make more than quiet grunts when he cums, and Jeremy bobs his head around the short length of Michael’s dick in time with his fingers to wring out every noise--every  _ oh, god, Jeremy, fuck, please _ \--he gets as Michael shakes apart underneath him.

When Michael starts pushing at his shoulder instead of pulling, Jeremy comes up, pulling his fingers out with an obscene noise. “Good?” he asks.

Michael’s chest heaves. “Yeah,” he rasps. “I’m not moving, so come up here so I can jerk you off.”

“Wow.” Jeremy laughs. “Real sexy dirty talk, pal,” he parrots Michael’s earlier words. Michael flips him off. Jeremy walks on his knees to where Michael is gesturing and shoves his shorts down just enough to expose himself. His cock bounces against his stomach, leaving a sticky trail against his skin.

Jeremy sucks a sharp breath in as Michael curls fingers around him and strokes teasingly light. “Wanna cum on my face?” Michael asks, tightening his fingers at the base of Jeremy’s dick.

“Yeah,” Jeremy says, breathless and surprising himself. Michael pulls his hand away, ignoring the whine he gets. He licks his palm, then comes back and starts a quick, tight pace that has Jeremy bucking into the circle of his fingers.

Michael pushes himself up onto his elbow and leans into Jeremy when his fingers start curling into the fabric of his shorts at his thighs. He closes his eyes.

When Jeremy cums and stripes Michael’s cheekbone and lips with white, the breath comes punched out of him by the filthy sight of his own jizz splattered next to the delicate fan of Michael’s eyelashes, black eye and all.

“God, you’re pretty like this,” Jeremy praises. He watches Michael’s adam’s apple bob with a heavy swallow. “You like that?” he asks. Michael’s eyelashes flutter, but his eyes don’t open. “You like having a messy face?” Michael's lips part in answer.

Jeremy reaches out and smears the drip of white on Michael’s lip into a split near the corner. Michael blinks his eyes open and focuses on Jeremy, eyebrow hiking up. Jeremy pulls his hand away and hovers it almost awkwardly over Michael’s cheek.

Both of them seem to take several moments to come down, and then Michael is shuffling away to pull his shorts and underwear back on. “Man, I don’t wanna clean this up. Who cares.” He flashes a grin at Jeremy and motions for him to follow.

Jeremy tucks himself away and hops to his feet. “What were you gonna do now?”

Michael shrugs, loose and languid. “Take a shower. Get your cum off my face. Take a nap. Wanna come?”

“Sure,” Jeremy says, smiling.

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


End file.
